


In The Tall Grass

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Adrenaline, Anbu Yamato | Tenzou, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Gore, Graphic Description, M/M, Post-Mission, Pre-Naruto Canon Era, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 03:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30116604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: The first time Asuma kisses him, it's after he crushes an enemy's head between his blades and fists.
Relationships: Sarutobi Asuma/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	In The Tall Grass

**Author's Note:**

> Set beta'd. Written on the phone while drinking coffee because eh.

Tenzou discovers his  thing  for facial hair a little after a fight breaks out on his way back to Konoha. He finds out after his mission partner, Hawk, ends up plunging his blades into either side of an their pursuing enemy's temples, crushing bone, eyeballs and brain matter between gritted teeth, as his mask falls apart in the wake of his enemy's chakra, the fine porcelain glinting under the moonlight. There is a stuttered scream, as a fountain of vicious red splatters across short, cropped, slicked back hair, across a meticulously trimmed beard, drowned by a snarl and a vicious, irritated if not fed up grunt.

Tenzou is beside his partner, covering his back with an upward arcing cleave of his short blade, cutting through the enemy's nin's face who had chosen, in that moment, as Hawk crushes the enemy between his hand blades, to break free of his douton technique, only to come face to face, like shavings of meat sliding off a a spit, with Tenzou's blade.

A part of his face or maybe it's her face - honestly, Tenzou doesn't give a fuck - falls on the ground, grotesque, fopped over rock and grass, mushed and loose, like someone had just slapped a piece of steak on a plate. It lies there, unmoving for seconds, looking like melted temple candle wax, before the body follows, slumping side ways, silent, dead, disturbing the lush green field with an almost deafening rustle before peace follows.

That is, until Hawk withdraws his blades, and the quiet is once more disturbed by another slump of another who gives a fuck body, flopping headless to the side, nothing but neck and maybe a bit of skull left, like a bowl filled with squashed watermelon.

Tenzou flicks his blade, blood arcing and splattering against the tall blades of grass.

Hawk does the same, clean, quiet, before he huffs into the air and turns to look at the field before them.

The bodies on the ground are the last of their pursuers.

Which is probably why Hawk digs into his utility pack and lights a cigarette.

Tenzou sheaths his blade, puts his hands together and then buries the bodies as deep as it can go in the earth. The grass around them grows taller, higher, giving them more cover in case someone else comes. It cuts shadows of the moonlight across their ANBU uniforms, over Hawk -- no. Over Sarutobi Asuma's face, one that slowly eases off its unreadable expression to something more wary, something a little more relaxed as he exhales smoke to the ground.

The side of Asuma's head is bleeding. A small gash. It looks worse than it is. Most head wounds are; Tenzou knows.

But he hands Asuma an adhesive dressing all the same. Something that Asuma tilts his head over, a silent request of,  please.

Tenzou pulls his mask off and steps into Asuma's space, inhaling musk, something like a quiet scent of a river in spring and tobacco. Tenzou breathes deep, taking nicotine into his own lungs, letting that wash of tobacco calm he drum of his heart under his rib cage before he carefully peels off the adhesive tape and places it over the gash on Asuma's temple.

"This is the second mask you broke in a month, Asuma-san," Tenzou says.

"Can't help it if they're always after my head," Asuma drawls.

Tenzou looks at him then, taking in the tight pull of Asuma's jawline, the tug of tendons and muscle around his neck, one that pulls at his chest too. Tenzou knows he's staring at the man who is still pumping with adrenaline.

Knows he shouldn't.

He and Asuma aren't like that.

But Asuma exhales, pulls the cigarette off his lips and in a quick move tugs Tenzou forward by the shoulder strap of his ANBU vest, where there, the heat of the lit cigarette brushes over the exposed curve of Tenzou's shoulder.

They don't kiss.

They fight.

Power, adrenaline, high as the moon, their tongues duelling as Asuma re-adjusts his grip from Tenzou's shoulder strap to the length of his hair, slanting Tenzou's head, manhandling him and deepening their kiss.

One moment they're kissing. 

The next Tenzou is on his knees, cock deep in his throat, stroking himself and watching as Asuma continues to smoke his cigarette. Bloody. Dirty. Earth and mud and body matter on his knees, in Asuma's fists, in his fucking hair, gods. The smell of cock, of sweat, the brush of coarse hair against Tenzou's face is enough to make his fist quicken in adesperate frenzy, until he's coming on the grass, hard and almost too easy while Asuma snaps his hips into his mouth. Gods, his mouth is so full, stretched around a thick girth, all that flesh just salaciously sliding down his throat, hard, vicious, hungry. The sides of Tenzou's mouth start to burn, with how wide open he is forced to be.

Asuma comes like that, teeth gritting and bared, snarling down at Tenzou like a wild animal, the stub of his cigarette still lit, ash falling over Tenzou's hair, as Asuma grips him hard, empties his cock down Tenzou's willing throat.

And then it's over.

Tenzou pulls back, sitting back on his heels? A gloved armoured hand brushing over his lips, the taste of cum and tobacco thick in his throat, watching as Asuma drops his cigarette stub and extinguishes it with a crush of his boot.

It's over before it even starts.

That is...

Until Asuma pulls Tenzou up and against him, brushing long ash brown hair that looks inky black under the shadowed grass, tucking a lock behind Tenzou's ear before he leans over and kisses him again.

Slower.

Indulgent.

His beard tickles, Tenzou thinks.

It's nice.

Tenzou finds himself tracing it with his fingers, indulgent too, just feeling the sharp spikes under his leather glove, wishing somehow, he didn't have the glove on.

Asuma smirks when he parts from Tenzou's almost needy mouth, something that turns to a devilish grin, and then Asuma is stepping back.

And just like that, they're on the road again heading home, a ghost of a smirk lingering over Asuma's lips that Tenzou, for the life of him, can't stop looking at.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Tenzou's Cabin Discord, Sketchy and Tsukki for this. May expand. Idk. Maybe. Asuma is hot.


End file.
